


Bottomfeeder

by sailon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Self-Mutilation, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 12:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12912078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailon/pseuds/sailon
Summary: It didn't matter where in the world he travelled, when it rained, it always poured.





	Bottomfeeder

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Bottomfeeder" by Amanda Palmer and events within my own life, this creation is a short therapeutic piece written at 6am after a few days of sleep deprivation and a desire to relapse. Please take the tagged content into consideration before reading.

  
It didn't matter where in the world he travelled, when it rained, it always poured. As the rush of icy droplets cascaded down his face, caressing his worn pale skin the same way that sandpaper would, he looked upward. The rain fell harder, flooding his honeydew eyes like a tidal wave, leaving him to squint through the pain of liquid daggers seeping through his thick lashes. No matter how many times he tried to wash away the horrors he'd seen, visions of hell still passed before him and no amount of cleansing could ever change that. Stumbling, one foot falling over the other, he arrived on the steps of the run down hotel he'd checked into weeks ago. He was here, in the middle of a world he'd never known, no longer inside the clouded bubble he'd always lived in. Outside, the world was dark, dreary and full of words he didn't understand and still he kept trying to learn to walk again, like a fawn on ice without its mother.

  
Silence. Nothing but stony silence in the elevator as it arrived at the 17th floor. One step, two step, a key in the door. As he fell through the wooden frame, he slammed the heavy oak behind him, quietly slipping down to the seemingly never-cleaned carpet. Decades worth of tales to be told still remained in the very fibres of the room, most would never be told. The rain still fell, hammering against the glass panes, barely muted by the thick curtains that draped lifelessly from cheap plastic curtain rings that barely clung to the wall mounted unpolished metal pole that tried so desperately to hold onto them. He stared at the droplets that danced on the window panes for what seemed like hours, mentally tracing every route they took as they fell from their stage. He closed his eyes one last time, before dragging himself into the bathroom, using every ounce of strength he could muster to hold his weight against the faux marble sideboard. The bathroom mirror remained shattered, the way he had intended the first night he'd spent in the hotel. He'd deal with the consequences as they came, if he ever lived to see them. He looked at himself through the shattered glass, bloodshot eyes framed by peacock tones of purple and blue, seemingly tattooed in place from years worth of sleep deprivation. His lower lip quivered, looking away hastily as his fist met the solidity of the countertop.

  
A razor, a gateway and a man without substance. His worn, calloused hands trembling slightly began to work the way they were accustomed to, forming neat lines of the powder that turned all of the lights on for a while. The sharpened metal slipped quietly across the smooth flesh of his forearms, burning red, crawling slowly downward to stain the bathwater that lay stagnant in the ivory tub, droplets diluting from an intense crimson into an oblivion only luminol could discover. Without hesitation, he rolled up a crisp dollar bill, plucked hastily from his wallet, snorting the feast before him, throwing his head back, finally exhaling. A gentle smile crept onto his face as the world around him came to life, greyscale surroundings now splashed with vibrant hues. He didn't hear the door behind him open, he didn't see the man behind him, a tattered Stetson in his hands, auburn eyes glazed with searing tears that threatened to fall, his words unheard. Jesse McCree had seen many broken men in his time, but never had he felt pain like this. To see the man he so adored, whom he'd given his life to in such a state was like a cigarette burn to the soul. Strong arms reached out towards the blood soaked pair of the other's. Tears falling as Jesse caressed Hanzo's thick, inky locks, pulling his head tightly towards his chest, swaddling him in the thick red of his serape. Hanzo did naught but grin, unaware of the world that was ending in front of him.


End file.
